Highways
by RRyanForever
Summary: First Season 'family' attempts to deal with the kidnapping of Richie.
1. Is This The End?

Walking down the dark highway, with his hands jammed in his pockets and his head hunched down in a futile attempt to lessen the full impact of the driving rain, the teen couldn't help but imagine how he must look to those passing by.

Tough. Hard. Ready for anything. He liked the sound of that. He tried to look a bit more intimidating. After all, he was supposed to frighten those around him. He was a tough hood. He feared nothing. He fled nothing. He felt nothing.

Yeah, he definitely liked the sound of that. Hard. That's what he was. Nothing could touch him. Walking down the highway, directionless, friendless, hopeless, he started telling himself over and over that he was hard. Tough. Nothing could touch him.

Continuing his directionless journey, the youth started saying it out loud.

"I'm tough."

"I'm hard."

"Nothing could touch me."

It was a chant really. Rhythmic. Therapeutic.

It wasn't like anyone else was around. The words were only meant for himself. If he said them enough times, maybe he would even start to believe them.

Maybe, if he told himself enough times, it would really be true. One day, maybe he could live with the fact that Richard Ryan was directionless, friendless, hopeless. Maybe one day, he'd understand that and, yet, feel nothing.

* * *

Finally seeing some reprieve, Richie ducked inside the chintzy little diner. He attempted to go unnoticed, a difficult task for someone so out of his element among the crowd of experienced truckers.

Refusing to allow himself to show any fear, Richie looked up with no expression as the large man approached him. As the trucker sat down across from him, he only allowed himself to provide the man a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Need a ride?" The man asked, barely looking at the drenched boy as he took a long drag on his cigarette.

Richie simply nodded, and silently followed the man out to his rig.

* * *

Climbing down from the truck, Richie drug his bag behind him. Looking back, he gave a slight wave of thanks to the driver before refocusing on his destination. As he took in the abandoned gas station, empty parking lot and graffiti covered bar, he showed no emotions.

After a moment's reflection, the boy simply hoisted his bag over his shoulder and made his way down the street.

Stepping inside the front entryway, Richie waited patiently for the clerk in the cage to acknowledge his presence.

"What you want?" The scrawny man asked, not even bothering to put out his cigarette as he meandered his way across the cage to look over the youth.

Richie simply stared right back at the man. "A room."

"Can't rent to a kid." The man said flatly.

Richie did his best to look thoroughly annoyed. "You really don't want me to bring in the old man. He's a nasty drunk."

"Humph." The cage-dweller snorted. Finally, he walked back to the key rack. "20, up front."

As Richie tossed a crumpled bill through the small opening, he made sure to appear disinterested.

Looking down at the worn out 6 scratched onto the wooden bar at the end of the key, Richie briefly nodded in the clerk's direction before heading back outside to find his room.

Throwing open the door, Richie did his best to ignore the rat scurrying around in the bathroom tub. As he dropped his bag and flopped his exhausted body onto the mattress, even the passionate sounds coming from the next room over could not keep sleep from overcoming him.

* * *

As the sleek black sports car inched slowly down the main stretch of the dead-end town, the few people that actually still remained openly stared at the automobile. Only when the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the flee-ridden motel and the large, frightening man dressed in black emerged from the car did the gawkers divert their eyes. It was obvious even to the common nitwits that occupied the town that this man was not one whose temper needed triggered.

Walking with purpose, the uninvited visitor made a direct path to the main entrance of the motel. Throwing open the door loudly, the large intruder was surprised by the lack of response he received from the clerk. That is, until he realized that the man was not merely asleep at his post; he was in a drunken stupor. Seeing that there would be no assistance provided, the visitor left as abruptly as he had entered and headed straight for the rooms, walking slowly as he passed each one.

Pausing in front of one, he stared through the open blinds of the well-light room that Richard Ryan was fast asleep within, completely oblivious of his visibility to the outside world. Shaking his head in annoyance, the large man quickly slipped a credit card into the side of the door and skillfully tripped the lock; the ease of which he worked compounded by practice and the fact that the boy inside had not bothered to turn the bolt-lock.

As the large intruder silently slipped in the room, he was mildly surprised when the boy did not even flinch as he loomed over the bed. Shaking his head in disgust, the intruder quickly spotted the boy's bag and easily tossed it over one shoulder. Then, with an equal amount of ease, he did the same to the sleeping child.

Richie was tired. He wasn't dead. The sudden movement immediately awakened him and he quickly realized that he was not in a good situation. Not entirely sure where he was, the teen was coherent enough to realize that he was being hauled out of his environment like a sack of potatoes. Despite being held upside down and having his face buried in his kidnapper's coat, Richie instinctually began to fight. Kicking and hitting at the large man, the teen did his best not to allow himself to be hauled off without his consent.

His efforts proved futile, however. His kidnapper provided only a low grunt as thanks for his efforts and he continued to be hauled out of the room and to the man's car with incredible ease. As the man silently dumped him in the passenger seat of his car, despite Richie's continuous physical protests, the boy finally got a good look at his captor. As he got his first glance at the man who held him hostage, Richie found himself absolutely speechless.

The stupefied condition Richie was in lasted long enough for the Immortal to not only get in the car, but also begin driving. It was not until they had pulled onto the highway that Richie finally found his voice. His question came out in a hollow whisper. "Mac?"

"Yeah, partner. It's me." The Immortal replied softly, cautiously moving his hand to stroke the back of the teen's head.

* * *

For more than 20 miles, the Immortal drove in silence, wanting the boy to be able to choose when he was ready to speak. It was not until they had pulled off at the first Seattle exit and into a nearby hotel that Duncan finally found it necessary to break the silence. "I'm going to get us a room."

When Richie didn't register the comment, the Immortal continued. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Silence still rained. "Do you want to come with me?"

The slight shake of the head was more then welcome. "All right, you stay right here then. I'll be back in a couple of minutes, okay?"

Squeezing the back of the teen's neck briefly, Duncan quickly exited the car and went inside the main entrance of the hotel, fervently praying that there would be an open room.

When Duncan finally got them registered in the only vacant room, he was more than a little disheartened to realize that Richie didn't appear to have moved from his current location in the slightest. Not even a hand had been disrupted from its original position. Sighing, he opened the back door of the car and pulled out the two bags he had haphazardly packed before leaving the loft in search of the boy.

The flinching motion that shook Richie's entire body when the door clicked open was not the sign of life that Duncan had been hoping for. Slamming the door quickly, the Immortal rounded the car to retrieve the teen as well.

Richie, who was clutching the bag he had from the motel, didn't even look up when Duncan pulled open his door. Instead, he sat unmoving in the car. Hoisting the two bags over one shoulder; the Scotsman leaned into the car to unlatch Richie's seatbelt. Once again he paused, hoping the teen would make some effort to move on his own. Instead, the Immortal found himself pulling the stiff boy, still clutching to his bag, out of the car.

Desperate to get some response from the child, he did the one thing he knew would make the boy object. Hoisting the teen into his arms and heading towards the hotel, he waited for the inevitable protestations to begin. There was no way Richie would allow himself to be carried. He would demand that Duncan put him down at once, claiming he was much too old to be carried. Or maybe fuss and squirm, telling the Immortal he was uncomfortable and didn't want to be dropped. He might begin to goof off, making faces or poking at the Immortal to deflect his embarrassment. If not that, he would at the very least curl into the man's chest, taking comfort from the contact.

As Duncan carried the teen into the hotel, the silence and lack of protest haunted the man. Depositing both Richie and the bags, Duncan became increasingly concerned as he looked into the void that was Richie's eyes.

"Are you okay?" The Immortal could have kicked himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course Richie wasn't okay. How could anyone be okay after what he had just gone through?

When the boy slowly nodded in response, Duncan did his best to provide a convincing smile. As the night progressed along, the Immortal's concerns only increased as Richie passively allowed the man to clean him, tend his wounds and prepare him for bed without even the slightest sign of protest.

* * *

It took hours of soothing words, heartfelt promises and unreturned but unrejected coddling before Duncan finally managed to coax Richie into a deep but uneasy sleep. Cautiously slipping out from underneath the teen and carefully securing the blankets around him, Duncan quickly gave into the curiosity that had been plaguing him for the entire night and silently grasped the bag that Richie had been clinging to.

The Immortal was well aware of the fact that the duffel belonged to neither him nor the teen and that Richie had certainly not had it with him when he had been kidnapped. It was all too clear to Duncan that the bag most certainly belonged to Richie's captor and the boy's desire to keep it was more than a little disturbing.

Unzipping the bag as quietly as possible, the Scotsman was relieved when Richie did not stir at the sound. Closely examining the meager contents of the bag, Duncan wasn't quite sure what to think. While the bloodstained sweatshirt's necessity saddened him, the Immortal could at least understand why Richie felt he might need to hang on to it. It was the bag's only other item that really worried the Immortal, however.

The large golden skull hanging from a rib chain was far from inconspicuous at the bottom of the bag. Pulling out the item to examine it more closely, Duncan felt a coldness wash over him at the idea of it still being anywhere near Richie. Staring at the hated possession, Duncan found himself reflecting back on the day three weeks earlier when he had first laid eyes on both the piece of jewelry and its owner. The day that changed everything.


	2. It's Only The Beginning

3 Weeks Earlier

Looking over his shoulder at the angrily departing teen, the sound of the abandoned broom hitting the floor met his ears at almost the exact same moment the teen disappeared from his vision. Turning expectantly back to Tessa, the woman's tense posture made it clear that the teen's abrupt departure had absolutely nothing to do with Duncan's arrival.

When the woman gave no indication that she was going to produce an explanation voluntarily, the Immortal began his questioning. "What was that all about?"

"I have an appointment downtown this afternoon." The blonde told him flatly, making her way towards the back of the store.

The Immortal wasn't going to let it die that easily, though. His voice took on an unplanned tone of warning. "Tessa."

"Maybe he's in a bad mood." The woman replied with a defiant shrug, continuing towards the office, attempting escape.

Duncan, however, wasn't buying the poor excuse. "He was in a fine mood an hour ago. What happened, Tess?"

"It wasn't that big of a deal." The woman replied defiantly, gathering her purse from the desk.

The Immortal knew full well it was. "What wasn't?"

"I simply asked him to. Oh, for heaven's sake, what does it matter?" She interrupted herself.

Duncan was now more curious than ever. "What did you tell him to do, Tessa?"

"I asked, Duncan. I asked, I didn't order." She defended herself indignantly.

The Immortal rolled his eyes. "Fine. What did you ask him to do?"

"I simply asked him to let me handle an important client." The woman defensively announced.

Causing the man's heart to drop into his stomach. "Let you handle?"

"Mr. Kessler has no interest in Richie's chitchat, Duncan. He's too important of a client to have thinking…" The woman let the sentence go unfinished.

Duncan, however, had a very clear picture of what had happened. And it wasn't a pretty one. "Tessa, you didn't."

"I merely asked…" The woman began.

Her partner was not exactly feeling sympathetic, though. "You told him to stay away from the important customers?"

"I just suggested Mr. Kessler might feel more comfortable if Richie worked in the back for a bit." The woman explained.

Duncan was more than a little appalled. "Tessa!"

"Duncan, I didn't…where are you going?" The woman was thrown by her partner's evident departure.

The man threw a heated glance over his shoulder. "Where do you think? I'm going to find him."

"Duncan, my appointment." The woman attempted to halt the man.

It was a futile, though. "So cancel. Or close the shop. I really don't care."

As the door slammed behind the Immortal, Tessa was left alone with nothing else to focus her attention on except her guilt.

* * *

Stepping into the chintzy diner, the Immortal briefly scanned the room. Laying eyes on the boy in a back booth, he breathed a sigh of relief at finally having found the lad. One thing was for certain: Richie Ryan was good at laying low when he didn't want to be found. It had taken Duncan a good afternoon to finally hunt him down.

Sidling up to the booth, the Immortal attempted to take in both Richie's attitude and his companion in the few seconds before his presence was noticed. Walking up to the pair, Duncan nonchalantly sat down next to Richie. Casually moving the unyielding teen with his side, the Immortal looked up at the greasy man staring menacingly at him.

The man's years of hardening were evident just with a quick look: the slight scar through one eyebrow, the tattoos peeking out underneath his clothes, the skull hanging conspicuously around his neck. Normally priding himself for not judging others by appearances, Duncan found himself doing just that. And the appearance of this man made it more than clear to the Immortal that this thug had no good business to conduct with Richie.

"Can I help you?" The man questioned flatly.

Earning an innocent smile from Duncan. "No, thanks. I already found what I was looking for."

Richie groaned as the Immortal nodded in his direction. Looking over at the man across from him, he mouthed something the Immoral didn't quite have the chance to make out. Nodding, the man grunted in acknowledgement and stood slowly.

"Pleasure meeting you." Duncan called after him sweetly before turning back to look at the teen on his left.

Sliding over to the far end of the greasy booth, Richie put one leg up on the seat. To a casual observer, it would appear as if the teen was opening himself up to chat. Duncan wasn't a casual observer, though. He knew full well that it was Richie's way of distancing himself from his employer.


	3. Where to?

AN: So I finally decided just to press forward with this and get the next section out. Trying to get through writer's block can sometimes seem impossible. Hope it flows all right.

* * *

"So who's your friend?" Duncan asked, his tone overly casual.

Earning himself a disgusted look from the teen. "What're you doing here, Mac?"

"Finding you." The Immortal told him evenly.

The man's odd attempts at humor were not working on the teen at all. "So?" When the Scotsman continued to look at him innocently, the teen pressed on. "What do you want?"

"Who's your friend?" Duncan asked again.

The teen gave him a sideways glare. "Just a guy. Now what do you want?"

"You left." The Immortal told him flatly.

Earning him a yet another sideways glare. "And?"

"And I wanted to talk to you about it." The man replied.

Richie stared straight at him this time. "So? Talk."

Looking into the teen's eyes, desperately attempting to gain some perspective on what was going through his employee's mind, Duncan was more than a little disappointed to realize that his searching was pointless. Richie had gone stone cold. "What happened between you and Tessa?"

"Exactly what she told you." The teen told him flatly.

The response caught the Immortal off-guard. "How do you know what she told me?"

Richie shrugged smugly and gave his fingernails a quick once-over before reengaging his cool stair. "I don't. What's it matter? I'm cool with whatever she wants to make it."

Duncan racked his mind frantically for an appropriate comeback. "Wants to make what?"

The teen raised his eyebrows at the man, remaining silent in response. The Immortal wasn't ready to give up just yet, though. He decided to try a new tactic. Blunt honest. "She said she asked you to stay in the back while she waited on the important clients."

The tactic didn't work. "So?"

"So you got ticked and took off." Duncan once again attempted to prod the youth into talking.

The response he got was not exactly what he had hoped for. "So what are you asking me for? You already know what happened."

"Alright." The conversation was not going the way he wanted at all. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"Do about what?" Richie returned flatly.

The unflappable façade was starting to drive the Immortal mad. "About you and Tessa."

"Wasn't planning to do anything about it." The teen told him matter-of-factly.

Duncan was not at all comfortable with that idea. "You were just planning to sit here for the rest of your life?"

"Right." The youth scoffed at him.

The Scotsman wasn't exactly surprised by the sarcastic response. "So then, what's the plan?"

Richie rolled his eyes at the repetitive questioning. It seemed every day since he had moved in with the Immortal, the man inevitably asked some form of that question. Apparently, he was hell-bent on knowing every 'plan' the teen ever made. "Well, I was planning to have lunch before you drove off my company."

"Let me guess, an old, long-lost friend?" Duncan questioned.

The teen wasn't taking the bait, though. "Something like that."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to take his place then. Can't have you eating all alone. It's bad for the digestion."

"Mac." The youth leveled him a sour look.

Which Duncan chose to ignore. "Have you ordered yet? I think I'll have the chicken salad sandwich. Are the fries good here?"

* * *

25 minutes plus two cases of acid indigestion later, the check arrived. As Duncan reached for it, the teen stubbornly clasped his hand over the man's to stop it. "I'll get it."

"It's on me." Duncan replied lightly.

Earning yet another scornful look from the teen. "Fine, we'll split it."

As the teen tossed a crumpled 10 bill on the table, the Immortal quickly followed suit, hang the change, and hurried to catch up with the fast-moving teen.

A few feet down the sidewalk, Duncan caught up with the teen. Matching the youth's pace, he realized that his two primary objectives had failed. He hadn't gotten the teen to talk and he hadn't even cracked the brick wall the boy had around himself. Hang it all, he wasn't failing on objective #3. "You ready to head home?"

As Richie skidded to a startled halt, the Immortal came within inches of skidding right into him. "What?"

"I said, are you ready to head home?" The Scotsman annunciated each word slowly.

The teen turned fully to look at the man. "You mean to the loft?"

"You have another home I don't know about?" Macleod asked lightly.

Richie nodded his head back and forth slowly and silently, his eyes unusually wide. He finally found his voice. "But Tessa…I…"

"Relax, Rich. We'll figure it out." Duncan told him calmly.

The teen was not nearly as sure as his employer, though. "I didn't think you'd…"

As the sentence drifted off, the Scotsman chose to temporarily ignore its implication.

"Come on, Tessa's probably near frantic by now." The Immortal said simply as he placed a gentle hand on the teen's shoulder and led him to the nearby car.


	4. I'll Kill Him

Turning the sign around to closed, Duncan sighed deeply as he caught a glimpse of Richie's reflection in the door. As he silently dusted the small figurines on one of the corner shelves, Richie's tense posture and uncharacteristic silence while he worked made it crystal clear to the Immortal that his employee had far from forgotten the earlier events of the day.

Forcing himself to put on a smile, the Scotsman made sure his stride was as casual as humanly possible as he approached the teen, determined to put at least a small chip in the newly formed wall Richie had built around himself. "Time to close up. You about done there?"

"I've got a few more yet." The boy responded flatly.

Far too flatly for his employer's taste. It hadn't even been six hours since the 'incident' that had made the teen shut down, but Duncan had already had more than his fill of the unanimated drone who had taken over the lad's body. He was ready for the real Richie Ryan to return. "Leave them. They'll still be there tomorrow. I'm ready to get out of here."

"I'll finish closing up if you want to take off." Richie offered.

But that was hardly what the Immortal had in mind. He had no intention of leaving the teen to brood all by himself. Perhaps bribery would soften the boy a bit. "I thought we could head downtown. Catch a movie or check out the arcade before dinner."

Richie didn't even look up from what he was doing as he replied. "Why don't you go ahead?"

"Richie…" Duncan was at a total loss as to where to go from here. Richie had a stubborn streak to be reckoned with. Finally, the Immortal just blurted out what was on his mind. "Look, I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

Giving the man a sideways look, the teen stood stone still for a good three seconds. Then he walked abruptly towards the office, tossing his rag on the counter as he passed.

Staring after the teen, MacLeod shook off his momentary shock at the abrupt change of attitude and rapidly racked his brain to try and figure out what on earth had set the boy off.

As he heard the motorcycle fire up, it finally dawned on the Immortal what had happened. Sprinting towards the back door, he threw it open just in time to see the vehicle round the block. Staring at the dust floating through the air in Richie's wake, he cursed himself a fool for being so careless in his language with the boy. He should have known better than to phrase it that way; of course Richie would think the Immortal would mean he didn't trust the lad alone in his store. The lad would never even consider the idea that the man didn't want to leave him alone because he was upset. That idea wouldn't cross his mind, let alone come to it first.

Sighing heavily, Duncan made his way to his car to head after the teen. There was no way he was giving this one time; time and angst were never good in Richie's unchecked hands.

* * *

Pulling the car abruptly into the alleyway, Duncan was far from pleased by what he saw. Sure, he was in the neighborhood because he was searching for Richie. And, of course, he was relieved to find the boy. He just was hoping not to find him here, of all places.

As the Immortal climbed out of the car, he wasn't exactly intimidated by the group of hardened young men that surrounded Richie. At least, not for himself; centuries of experience left him with little fear of common thugs. His safety wasn't exactly the issue. Approaching the group with purpose, he walked straight up to the lad he was there for.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to explain to the boy that he had misunderstood. He wanted the teen to understand how much he was wanted. But, more than that, he wanted to kill him. Gripping the boy's arm firmly, he barked out a simple, clipped order, "Car. Now."

As Richie stared at him, apparently taken quite off guard; only one man in the group responded to the Immortal and his young charge. As Richie's lunch companion stepped towards him, Duncan maintained his grip on the teen's arm. Looking the Immortal over critically, the man told him flatly, "I'm the only one who gives orders around here."

Ignoring the man entirely, Duncan looked straight at Richie and repeated his command, "Now."

The teen didn't protest in the slightest as the Immortal pulled him away from the crowd. He was too stunned. Stunned by the Immortal and stunned by the lack of response from the man the Immortal had ignored. It was hardly like Derrick to allow his authority to be disregarded like that. The criminal's calm and lack of attack on the Immortal greatly surprised the teen. Knowing the lack of response was hardly a good sign, Richie vaguely wondered what was in store for both him and the Scotsman as a result of Richie leaving with the man. He couldn't imagine it was going to be good.

As Duncan pulled him to the car, though, Richie found that concern being quickly overwhelmed by another, more immediate one. Why the Immortal had come to get him and what, exactly, he wanted was far from clear. As the teen allowed himself to be directed, rather firmly, into the passenger seat of the Immortal's car, he was becoming increasingly uneasy about the Immortal's intent. This was definitely not Richie's best day ever.


End file.
